A Dustland Fairytale
by Psychotic Minds
Summary: John just wants a real friend that he can trust, but Dave Strider plans to be all that and more. Adorableness ensues, along with a little angst in-between. Schoolstuck AU in John and Dave's POV (No longer on hiatus-2 new chapters!)
1. Chapter I

Making friends does not come naturally to me. I don't mean to surround myself in such a reclusive bubble, but I have always been this way. No matter how many years pass by and new school semesters begin, I have never had more than a handful of friends. But lately its gotten to the point where I am losing the very few friends I have tried to keep. Even the ones I have known since middle school, the ones I thought I could trust my life with, are gradually slipping through my fingers.

I guess its because I like being alone. This sophomore year, I've sat at a table by myself every single day so far. Although my friends have the same lunch as me, I never bother to sit with them. Other kind students ask me to join them at their tables, and I used to accept their offers with gratitude, but whenever I joined them they would just completely ignore me until the bell rang. The whole situation made me feel uncomfortable and out of place so, after a while, I started to appreciate the loneliness.

I believe that's when I decided to push my "friends" away. I talked to them less and less until I only briefly shared short conversations with them from time to time during school hours. I don't go out much now either. Hell, I haven't been out to a movie or birthday party with a friend since early freshman year. I just don't see the fun in committing my time to those activities anymore. Its not that I'm depressed or anything... I just enjoy having time to myself. I like to think a lot. I observe people instead of approaching them. Even when I do muster up the courage to talk to somebody, I'm a stuttering mess and I usually say something really irrational.

My dad keeps stressing to me that I need to converse with kids my age more. He even dared to claim that I'm anti social. I tell him I'm completely fine, but my words fall on deaf ears. He says I do not act like a teenager anymore, to which I question: _how does a regular teen act? _Like, do you want me to be really stereotypical here and go to parties and drink alcohol until I can't walk straight? Is that how my father would want his sixteen year old son to act instead?

Anyway, its not like I'm totally without friends. I actually have two wonderful friends online: Rose Lalonde and Jade Harley. They're basically on totally opposite sides of the planet, but we've known each other since we were thirteen. We are all the best of friends, and I feel like I could talk to them about anything. I just wish I knew them in real life. Its different having friends on the internet and none in reality.

I keep telling myself that I will be okay, that I chose to be a loner, but the growing emptiness in my heart tells me otherwise. Honestly, I just want the horrible feeling to go away.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The alarm's shrill buzzer blares in my ears until I slam the snooze button, grumbling incoherent curses. I sit up in bed and rub at my eyes. I'd usually just fall right back into the warm comforters until my dad would come in and toss me out of bed, but its Friday, and I always look forward to the weekends. I drag myself from an entangled blanket and get ready. My mornings are routine: take a shower, run hands through hair until presentable, slip on some simple clothes (usually just jeans and a tee shirt), and skip breakfast like I do every day. Then, I wait outside in front of my house until the little yellow shit bus comes around.

Oh, I guess I should explain about the part where I skip meals. I'll admit that I have issues with my appearance. At school, there are these perfect girls and guys that, yes, are probably all fake, but a part of my brain strives to be them. It tells me that I need to lose weight, that if I skip this meal it will make me feel better, and, in a way, it does. I do not eat during the first part of my day, which is eight hours of school. I starve myself until I come home and eat dinner. I know that's probably not a very healthy habit to get into, but its really not that big of a deal. Doing it makes me feel more satisfied with myself.

Eventually, the bus comes and I step on, throwing my stuff into the first available seat. I put in my ear buds and stare out the window. When the bus is finally loaded, the driver makes a beeline towards Derse High School. Once we arrive I step off and manage to avoid bumping into anyone. When we walk into the gym half the student population is already here, as per usual. I keep my eyes on my feet and avoid any intimidating contact with anyone as I make my way to an open spot. After that, its just filling in the extra time with little distractions until the first period bell rings.

When we are finally in class, our English teacher steps in late with a student at her side. I sift through names in my mind, but I do not recognize this particular boy. I guess he's new. Huh. New kids in Derse always get the kids gossiping. Since this is such a small, isolated town, its a bit surprising when a family decides to move _here_ of all places. I flinch out of a daze, the sudden realization coming over me that I had been rudely gawking at the boy. He seemed to have noticed, but I can't really tell with those black aviators blocking his eyes. My face heats up in embarrassment and I inwardly berate myself for such foolishness. I lay my head down on the chilly desk and use my arms as pillows.

The teacher, Ms. Dotson, raises her voice to get the class's attention. "Everyone, before we start class, I'd like to welcome Dave Strider to our school."

Silence fills the room, and I can imagine all the other students eyes focused on Dave right now. Ms. Dotson asks him to take the open seat behind me that's been empty since the beginning of the year. I hear his footsteps closing in on me, then a small gust of air as he swoops past and plops down into the chair. I raise my head up again as Ms. Dotson begins with today's lesson on Shakespeare. While she rattles on about Julius Caesar, I entertain myself by shifting my attention to the outside world just beyond the window beside me. The sun is just now breaking over the mountains, and the way it paints the sky pinkish blue ensnares me. My concentration drifts away from the unimaginative classroom and into my own rich thoughts.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Lunch. Not much to say about it. Instead of rushing to the lines of students waiting to receive their crappy meal of the day, I settle down at my lone table and once again lay my head on my arms. I allow myself to close my eyes and welcome the sweet nothingness of sleep. I may have good grades and all that, but a good thirty minute nap in the middle of the day never hurt no one. I've never had a problem sleeping in school. Its easy to tune everyone out and take a break from consciousness for a while. I guess I must have sort of blacked out, cause' next thing I know is that someone is jostling my shoulder.

"Hey, man."

I look up at the guy, a little peeved that he woke me up instead of the lunch bell this time. Although my eyes strain against the bright light, they widen whenever I see Dave Strider, the new kid, standing behind me.

"Is this seat taken," He pointed to the seat right beside me. "Or are you reserving this whole fucking table to yourself?"

I swallowed my anxiety and mumbled "sure" just loud enough for him to hear. He nodded and sat down. I twiddled nervously with my fingers. What do people usually do in these types of situations? Like, what are we suppose to talk about? I glanced around the cafeteria, watching all the other students chatter away with one another. The room echoed with everyone's struggle to loudly talk over one another. Many of them were laughing, and even some of the other unpopular kids I know sat together at the same table. There were extra seats open, so why had Dave decided to sit with the one awkward kid pushed off to the side of the lunch room at an empty table?

"So, are you gonna ignore me or say something?" Dave said. He didn't sound irritated in the least, but it still made my heart jittery and I had trouble meeting his shaded eyes.

"Um, s-sorry." I managed, turning slightly to face him.

"Its cool, man."

More tense silence hovered over us for a few more minutes. I mentally screamed at myself: why is this so hard?

Thankfully, Dave saved me from having to say something stupid. "Do you sit here alone a lot?"

The question caught me off guard. "Yeah, every day."

I peeked at Dave and quickly averted my eyes the other way when I noticed he had stopped eating to look at me. He ran a thoughtful hand through his white blonde hair. "Why?"

I shrugged. It doesn't matter.

He sighed "I mean, are you used to being alone, or do you just wanna be alone?"

I don't think he meant the words to be very significant, but for some reason they hit home for me. I felt frustrated and sad all at once. I was fighting the onslaught of emotions and empty questions I have had for months. Why did I feel so lonely, when I was the one who isolated myself in the first place? Why do I seem to have some sort of repellent all over me that kept people away? Why does Dave fucking Strider care?

At last, I looked straight at him. Its really hard to tell what he's thinking with those glasses on. I opened and closed my mouth, trying to think of something to say, but the bell rang. I jumped up out of the seat and quickly walked to my next class, leaving Dave behind. I tried not to think about what he had said the rest of the day.

0-0-0-0-0-0

I only live about a mile away from the school, so I decided to walk home today. I absentmindedly listened to the music blasting through my ear buds. At one point my stomach growled loudly. My thoughts shifted to what I might eat for dinner when I get home. Probably just some cereal. I wonder what dad's doing at the bakery right now. He doesn't come home until around eight in the evening, so I have the house to myself most days.

I continued to keep my attention on anything besides Dave.

I looked up at the sky for help, and felt slightly unnerved to spot rain clouds in the distance. Okay, confession time. I'm scared of storms. I know, I know: I should have gotten over this ridiculous fear of mine as a toddler, but I'm still sort of fighting with this phobia at sixteen. Its not so bad when I'm surrounded by strangers in school. I usually just get really nervous and panicky. When I am home alone, I hide under a blanket or something to feel a little safer. I'm not sure when the fear developed, but I still haven't told anyone about it. I already feel dumb and silly whenever the panic hits, so it seems easier to just keep it to myself as long as I don't break down in front of anybody.

Around five, I unlocked the door to my home and stepped inside. A weight seemed to lift from my shoulders when I gazed around the familiar living room. I kicked off my shoes and stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a box of cereal and a can of mountain dew before finally ascending the stairs to my room.

At six, I had already logged onto Pesterchum and was actively talking to Jade. She told me all about her exciting day on her volcano island, and I was happy to listen to her adventures. The joy she radiated rubbed off on me a little, and I found myself smiling for the first time all day as she described some insane endeavor with her dog. The box of cereal had been set aside, half eaten.

When the clock ticked to seven, Rose also logged onto Pesterchum, but I had already shut down the computer by then. I'll have to remember to apologize tomorrow and catch back up with her. Thunder shook the gray sky outside, and I was already curled up in bed with the comforter pulled tightly around me. I thought about Dave, and I'm surprised at the weird feelings that stirred in my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut when lightning lit up the room. As uncontrollable shivers racked my body with the next crack of thunder, I felt more alone than I ever had in my entire life.


	2. Chapter II

=John's POV

The weekend passed by in a blur. Besides daily pestering with my online friends and browsing through my favorite sites on the computer, it was overall uneventful. Most of my time during these days is spent staying up into the early hours of the morning and crashing from a sugary high of Mountain Dew until the afternoon. By the way, I just want to point out that Mountain Dew _is the nectar of the gods_. It may not taste the best, but its sweet, sweet caffeine shocks you into sugary jitteriness for hours on end. There's no other feeling like it. Heck, its better than doing drugs like the delinquents at school that get high in the bathroom. I'd rather suffer from lack of sleep than gradually lose every intelligent molecule in my brain.

Dad's only day off from the bakery is on Sunday, so we watched a few movies together and ordered pizza. Although my dad and I do not hang out with each other a lot or see eye to eye on a bunch of things, he is practically my best friend. Many teenagers would probably disagree with me, but your parents can be your best friends. I know mine is. He's the only person in the whole entire world that has ever cared about me, except for my mother.

I guess I should explain about her... she passed away a month after my birth. On her way to work, another car blind sided her and the impact killed her instantly. My dad was home when he got the phone call later that day, with me sound asleep in his arms. Of course, terrible things like that happen to the best of people. Unfortunately, I do not have any memories of her. I wouldn't even know what she looked like if dad never showed me photos. He still talks about her with such longing in his voice that it nearly brings tears to my eyes. There's never a doubt in my mind that dad loved her.

When I finally retired upstairs to my bed after hours of movies, I allowed myself to think about Dave. For those few minutes at the lunch table it had actually felt like he sorta cared about me too. Maybe that's just wishful thinking though; we were only together for five minutes at most. He probably doesn't even want to talk to me anymore since I was a dick to him. I mean, I would feel that way if I was in his position. I have no idea why he even felt so compelled to sit with me. He definitely seems like a cool guy that you'd expect to see around the popular clique, but certainly not with the dorky, socially awkward kid that just happens to be me.

I sigh and bury my head further into the pillows.

Regardless of his intentions, I really hope he sits with me tomorrow.

0-0-0-0-0-0

=Dave's POV

Before we get started, I should admit that I am a _flaming hot_ homosexual. I have never denied it and when I first realized I was gay it wasn't much of a revelation. I didn't come out of the closet to a bunch of angels dressed in tie-dye hippie clothes descending to take me over the rainbow. No, fuck that. It was more like "oh that guys hot no wait what". And since you'll be sticking with me over the next few months, I just wanna get the formalities out of the way so you won't be confused when I gawk at a dude's ass and whatnot.

Anyway, my first weekend living in this godforsaken town was pretty busy. Between daily strifes with my older brother and unpacking a seemingly endless amount of boxes, I kept myself occupied. When Bro finally went out to take a quick detour around town I stopped unpacking long enough to grab some apple juice from the fridge. I forgo a glass and chug down a huge gulp of the bitter liquid from the container. I survey the apartment, noticing how trashed it already looks with mine and Bro's combined interests spread out everywhere. The place isn't very big or fancy, and the rent is cheap enough for us to barely get by on Bro's job at the local night club. It would have to do until our current situation cools down and we can finally try to live a life without our parents.

I struggle through a plethora of cardboard strewn about on the floor until I reach the window. The apartment complex is not very tall, considering this is a small town, but the view is sort of awesome nonetheless. You can basically see half the town from here, including Derse High. My thoughts somehow stray to last Friday, the first day at my new school. It had been a mundane day until I met that one shy kid at lunch. I was tired of being hounded with questions from nosy students and I didn't really feel up to socializing with any of them. When I spotted the boy sitting alone at his table, it suddenly dawned on me that I should sit with him. It just felt like the right thing to do at the time. I didn't think it would mean anything, and the boy only seemed distressed whenever I tried to strike up a conversation with him.

He wouldn't have crossed my mind in the first place if I could stop thinking about his eyes. Oh my god, his blue eyes were fucking captivating. When those uncertain, sad orbs had locked with my own, I swear my heart skipped a beat. I know that sounds a little melodramatic, and feeling this way about a complete stranger isn't something a Strider would normally do, but_ fuck_. Let me make it clear that I don't believe in love at first sight and shit. I simply cannot comprehend why the kid has made such a lasting impression on me already. Seriously, I haven't been able to think about anything else. I don't even know his name, yet he has invaded my mind like a virus. Is this a normal thing that people have to deal with? Do other teenagers just go "holy shit" at the first piece of fine ass they see and grab it by the cheeks with their grubby little hands?

Wait a second, that sounds really bad. Let me start over:

Previously mentioned boy that I shared a table with on Friday has been imprinted on my memory without consent. Said guy most likely thinks I'm a dick since I thought he was ignoring me when I had no idea he's just super duper shy. And somehow this twisted formula leaves me thinking about him the entire weekend whilst unknowingly kindling the desire to see him again on Monday. Man, this is pretty fucked up so far.

I shake my head in disdain. There's only a couple weeks of school left, but I already got a feeling they're gonna be pretty crazy with my one track mind.

0-0-0-0-0-0

=John's POV

I fucking hate Monday's.

Me and Dave have been avoiding each other all day. During first period, we didn't make eye contact. He never spoke to me and I was too nervous to say anything to him. I guess he already gave up on me, and I was surprised to feel disappointed about all of this. When the lunch bell finally rang, I trudged through the hall to the cafeteria slower than usual. I have never really felt particularly excited about going to lunch, but today seemed especially cruel so far. It had been ridiculous to think that cool guy Dave Strider would want to talk to me anyway.

However, when I began walking to my normal table, I stopped in stunned silence to see Dave already sitting there. He stopped picking at his fries when he spotted me, and for a moment we stared at each other until I blinked and moved forward. His aviators never left me, which made me increasingly more nervous than I was two seconds ago. I slid into the seat beside him. Not a single word was passed between us for a solid minute.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Dave asked. It was a silly question, since he's already right next to me, but it also helped break the tension surrounding us.

My lip's upturned into a small smile. "No." I said, still gazing straight ahead at the table.

Dave spoke with a mouthful of fries. "What's your name?"

"J-John... John Egbert." I mentally chastise myself for stuttering.

He manages to swallow all the fries he'd stuffed in his mouth. "Egderp?" Dave asks innocently.

"_Egbert_." I say defensively, smiling at how goofy that sounded. I turn to face him and feel relieved to notice that his lips are upturned as well. He turns to me and our knees are almost knocked together, but I don't mind. There are freckles splayed across his face that I failed to see yesterday. It feels weird to be so close to another person. I fight against the uncomfortable feelings and decide to be the one to start talking this time.

"And you're Dave Strider."

"The one and only, although most people just call me an insufferable prick."

"I think I'm the one that was a prick yesterday." I admit. I force the rising guilt I feel back down.

Dave only waves his hand dismissively. "Nah, man. I didn't mean to come onto you or anything."

I stare at his face, wondering what kind of eyes are hidden behind those black aviators. We were both silent again.

"What?" He says, breaking me from my reverie.

I laugh nervously. "Sorry! I-I'm just not used to... ya know, talking to people."

"Its totally cool, dude. Not many people can resist this hot Strider body." He puts his hand against his chin and his elbow on the table. Dave's tray of food is forgotten as he continues to survey me. I imagine his gaze to be quite calculating at this point, despite his smug expression.

"No, no, I don't mean-" I stop rambling to collect myself.

Dave's grin widens. "I knew it from the first time I laid my eyes on you. You can't resist me."

A blush heats my cheeks. "What? No, listen, I just, uh..." I stumble over my words in exasperation. He sounds so into himself that it irritates me.

"Wow, John, its okay. I know I'm sexy and all that. Don't blow a gasket on me." he's still smiling, and its hard to stay stoic when I can see all thirty two of his perfect teeth. What? That was a really weird thought. I let this embarrassing little giggle slip out and promptly slap my hand to my mouth. Dave quirks an eye brow at me in confusion, and I can feel my face reddening again.

"This is clearly the start of a beautiful friendship." Dave said, sounding satisfied with himself.

I felt a little more than frustrated by this. "With a jerkface like you? No way." I didn't mean for it to sound so mean, but sometimes I just say things without thinking them through. He seems a bit taken aback by the comment. I instantly feel awful for what I said, but the unfamiliar emotions he's been making me feel have thrown me into a whirlwind of anxiety. I see him shift his weight, and I'm suddenly worried that he's deciding whether to move tables or not. Dread clenches my empty stomach. I quickly come to the realization that I appreciate his presence, and honestly, I'd do anything to stop him from leaving me.

"Listen, John-"

"Look, can we just start over?" I glance around the cafeteria and am grateful that nobody else has been watching us. Right now, in this moment, it is just me and him.

Dave nods hesitantly. "Sure."

His hand is suspended in mid air between us now. "Hi, I'm Dave. Will you be my friend?"

For a while I just stare stupidly at his hand, completely dumbfounded. The gesture is so kind and thoughtful that it takes me a minute to finally clasp his hand with my own. His palm is very soft; I've never held another guy's hand before until today. He lifts our combined hands up and down in a gentle handshake.

"I'd love to be your friend." I finally say, my heart fluttering in excitement.

And just like that we're both smiling at each other again.


	3. Chapter III

=Dave's POV

I'm not the same Dave Strider that everyone used to know back when me and Bro lived with our parents. I wasn't cool and being ironic did not matter to me. During that horrible time, my life was a living hell. Each day I woke up dreading school and what might happen to me if I went. I contended with bullies and my own personal demons. It was so bad that I sort of started to believe that the terrible things the obnoxious kids said about me were true. My brother knew something was wrong, but he never approached me about it until the situation had gone too far, and even though we've tried to get over the past, he continues to live with this guilt.

To be honest, I would be dead right now if Bro had not taken action. Instead of being the sarcastic asshole he usually was, he became the older brother I truly needed.

=Flashback

I grip my side and stumble over my own feet as another wave of pain nearly knocks me down. Black haze threatens to consume me, and it takes all my willpower to stay conscious. This time the bullies had gone too far. Usually it was only empty threats, and that I can handle, but I hadn't expected them to jump me after school. The injuries they had inflicted upon me now showed in black and blue bruises that were scattered across my body. They had been merciless until I finally passed out from the agony. Although I eventually came to, it took another thirty minutes just to stand up again. Now its only a matter of getting home. My older brother would be worried at this point. The moon has already risen and the streets are nearly vacant.

I slowly drag myself down the sidewalk, determined to make it home. Time seems to stand still. My entire body aches and I'm having a hard time staying upright. At last, I walk to the front door of my home and push it open in a trance. I'm so incredibly exhausted that I just want to curl onto the floor and never wake up. The house is deadly quiet, so I automatically assume that everyone is in bed. I limp up the stairs and try to avoid putting too much pressure on my throbbing ankle. I shut the door to my bedroom and collapse on the floor, my back supported against the dresser.

Silent sobs wracked my body, but I fight the tears. I weakly reach into my pocket and pull out a small pocket knife that Bro gave me for protection weeks ago. I scowl, flipping the blade open and staring at the red stain already on the blade. Instead of my attackers blood on the knife, it was my own. I hadn't used it against another person before; I never got the chance to, honestly.

I clutch the knife's handle in my hand. Tonight is my darkest hour, and I've been pushed to my limit. With trembling fingers I pull up one of my sleeves, revealing multiple scars. Most of them are still new, having just been inflicted the day before, but the rest are a variety of different colors from old wounds. I was just about to break the vulnerable skin on my wrist like I'd done a million times before, when a strong hand grasps my shoulder.

"Little man?" Bro's heavy voice makes me freeze. He flicks on a light switch, and the sudden brightness blinds me. He could clearly see all the past cuts on my wrists and the waterfall of tears running down my flustered cheeks. I feel like I'm under a microscope as he stops for a second to inspect my discolored face. Without a word, Bro crouches in front of me and caresses the hand holding the knife with his own. He gently pries my fingers away from it, and I let go willingly. After he put the offending object away, he sits in front of me.

"Dave," his voice is full of concern. "What happened?"

I don't know why, but something inside me just snaps. I can no longer hold back the gut wrenching sobs that I've been suppressing all night. I hang my head down in shame. I thought Bro was about to get mad at me, though he simply reaches forward and takes me into his arms. My tears soak his shirt. I cry for a very, very long time. I let everything out that I have been holding back over the last year. Every taunt, curse, and beat down from the kids at school that made me feel worthless rushed out of me in one emotional burst. We stay embraced like this until I finally manage to calm down.

Absently, I notice Bro's hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. A part of me is shocked to see him act so caring towards me. "Do you wanna talk about it?" He whispered.

I shake my head and pull away. I lean back on the dresser again, refusing to meet his eyes.

He sighs and crosses his legs in front of me. "Dave," his fingers force my chin up to look at him, and I realize that both of our shades had been removed while I was crying. "Please tell me."

I stare at his orange eyes, expecting to see something there that would indicate that this whole side of him is a just a sham, that he'd go back to being stoic and sarcastic again any minute now. However, the only response I see is distress for his little brother.

I cave under his attentive watch. "A bunch of shitheads jumped me after school."

Fury flicks across his face, but I know its not towards me. He breaths heavily for a moment, obviously struggling to compose himself for my sake.

"I was too weak to stop them, Bro." I say, my body shaking. "I tried to ignore the teasing. I really did. I-" I stopped the words from spilling out of me.

Bro locks eyes with me. "Hey, stop that." his voice is gentle, yet firm. "You're not weak, Dave."

"I couldn't handle it anymore." I admit. I hug myself, hands clutching at my mistreated wrists. "I was about to..."

"Shh," Bro moves to sit next to me, and I lean against him, thankful for his presence. His arm snakes around my shoulders and holds me tightly until I stop quivering. "Listen to me, Dave." I peer up at him, feeling like the most helpless person in the world. He shifts his weight and pulls the knife out of his pocket. Holding it eye level, he continues: "This isn't you, and this sure as hell isn't your fault. I wish I could have talked to you sooner, but I'm _here_ now."

He tosses the knife onto the carpet. "I'm not gonna let this happen to you again."

"I-I didn't expect it to go this far." I utter, still staring at the knife, amazed at Bro's sudden audacity.

"How long has it been going on?" Bro asked.

I huddled deeper into his side. "About a year..."

He pauses for a moment. "And the cutting?"

"Six months."

We're both quiet as the horrifying reality of the situation sinks in for Bro. His grip on my shoulder tightens, like he's suddenly afraid I'll vanish if he doesn't hold me close enough.

"It doesn't matter anymore." he released an unsteady breath. Then, his tone strong and certain, he finally speaks. "_They_ do not matter anymore. Although I'd love to go bash their fucking skulls into the ground, it wouldn't solve the problem at hand here."

I hesitate. "Bro, what exactly do you plan to do?"

He smirks, and I know that he's up to something big. "I'm gonna do something about it, little man."

0-0-0-0-0-0

After that night, Bro confronted our parents about the situation. I wasn't comfortable with it, but he insisted that it had to be done to convince them to act. Unfortunately, our parents have taken the grand prize of being the worst mom and dad in the world. They've always been distant and neglectful towards us. I can still remember being raised by Bro all the time; he tells me he even bottle fed me as a baby. I honestly believe that they didn't even want children. My mom's birth control probably failed or something. Regardless of what occurred, they always acted like they hated us. So, when Bro confessed to them about my problem, you can only imagine their vile reactions.

Anyway, stuff happened, and me and Bro moved out. He was able to take custody over me without so much of a peep from mom and dad. We both wanted to be miles away from our parents and all the painful memories that were spawned in that city. The day we left, my dad gave me back the pocket knife once we were alone. I recall wondering where he had found it at; I was positive Bro had taken it with him after my episode, yet here it was, presenting itself to me again under dad's scrutinizing glare. Dad had shoved it into my hand, as if daring me to relapse and harm myself for a second time. Like it was my fault that I was being harassed and that I was just too much of a wimp to stand up to them.

He turned away without a word, and I say good riddance. I wish I could tell you that I chucked the knife in the trash the first chance I got, but it still rests in my pocket to this day. However, I do not cut anymore. I've been clean for two weeks now. The scars will never fade, though I wear long sleeves to cover them up. The bruises eventually went away too, and my self confidence grew with each one that disappeared. Bro has been teaching me how to fight in case I need to protect myself from any bullies. Hopefully, I won't have that problem here.

"Dave?"

I blink, coming back from my daydream to see two bright blue eyes looking directly at me.

Oh, yeah. "Sorry, man. I must have spaced out."

John's questionable stare melts away and is promptly replaced with a small smile. "Is that some sort of ironic thing that Strider's do?"

I scoff at him. "Are you seriously doubting my coolness?"

He laughs, and its sort of like a chorus of angels are singing in my ears. I silently vow to be the cause of his joy more often. Seeing him happy over any little dumb thing always brightens my day. Maybe the delight he feels is contagious, because now I can't restrain a grin myself. We've been sitting together every day at lunch. I think we're actually becoming really good friends despite such a rough start. I've noticed a bit more cheerfulness beaming from him, rather than the somber way he used to act before. We both seem to enjoy each others company. Hell, I know I do.

"Can I ask you a question?" John stares at the table, timidly drawing invisible shapes with his index finger.

"Shoot."

"Why do you always wear your sunglasses?"

I put down my turkey sandwich and examine my converse, which suddenly seem much more interesting. I pay extra attention to all the scuff marks covering the shoe as John looks at me expectantly.

God, you have no idea how much I want to tell him. A huge chunk of my conscience is begging me to confide in him everything: the bullying and why it all started in the first place, the terror that I constantly feel in fear of someone else figuring out all my little secrets. But the more frightened, scarred part of me practically screams not to. It fears rejection, or maybe even facing the possibility of more teasing in the future. Although I can handle myself in a fight now, it wouldn't matter if everyone hated me. I'm not sure how I'd deal with going through all that shit a second time.

Deep down, I know John would not hurt a fly. He's the only true friend I've ever really had. He accepts me for who I am and, although I'm a dick, he's an asshole in his own right too. In spite of this, I'm just not ready to tell him yet. So, I cock a poised smile in his direction and push up my shades. "Well, since you asked," John groans, realizing he's not about to get the answer he wanted. "My shades are apart of my epic superhero persona. I'm sort of like Clark Kent or something. My glasses keep the cool side of me in check and nobody knows what kind of person is really behind them."

John raises one skeptical eyebrow at me. "Really?"

"Hey, man, give me some credit. After all, I could be Superman, and if your scrawny ass ever needs saving one day, you can sure as hell bet that I'll be there to do it."


	4. Chapter IV

=John's POV

I lay on my bed in pitiful boredom, watching the shadows on my ceiling slowly become more defined as the sun set over the house. I can't believe I have nothing to do today! What a waste of a Saturday afternoon. I place my hand over my stomach in a vain attempt to silence it's sudden uproar. The thought of food flickers in my head, but I press myself to ignore it. There's no point in eating right now, and I find myself thinking that a lot lately.

My gaze travels to my computer. Neither Jade or Rose have pestered me all day. This usually doesn't bother me on the rare occasion that it happens, but, since I opened myself to Dave Strider, I felt a lot lonelier nowadays whenever I was on my own. We've only known each other for a little over a week and I already feel like I can't get him out of my head. What's so special about him that makes me so outspoken and carefree?

Suddenly, my cellphone starts vibrating like crazy on my nightstand. I dimly wonder who it could be. I never really get phone calls from anyone besides my dad, and he's at the bakery working a late shift today. I sit up and hurriedly grab my cell. My eyes scan the screen and immediately widen. Speak of the devil.

"H-Hey, Dave." I bite my tongue in an attempt to control my nerves.

"Let me take you to a movie." Dave's voice sounds lighthearted over the crackle of the phone line.

I blink and switch the phone to my other ear. Typical Dave, as blunt as a hammer. "Uh, when?"

Dave's laugh makes my stomach twist. "Tonight, Egderp. When else?"

Tonight? "Oh, uh," I jump up off my bed, trying to figure out what else to say. Should I say yes? Oh god, I haven't been to the movies in years. What if I make a goof of myself in front of Dave or..?

"Okay." My voice is pretty chill, but on the outside I'm jumping on my feet like a kangaroo around my room. My face starts hurting from smiling like an idiot. I'm so glad he can't see me right now. I'd probably kill over from embarrassment.

"All right, then." I think I can hear Dave smiling too. "I'll meet you at the school in a bit. Sound cool?"

I manage to suppress my excitement enough to utter "yeah, okay, yeah, that sounds good." Then I'm off the phone, staring at it in surprise. Holy crap, did I really just do that? My anxiety is shot, yet I feel like I'm floating on cloud nine. I rush over and pull my closet open to decide what to wear. He didn't even tell me what movie we're seeing. I'm so excited to be with him again that I don't even care.

0-0-0-0-0

=Dave's POV

I've been working up to calling John for days. We exchanged our cell numbers last Tuesday, but shit I never expected it to be so hard to simply make a phone call. Instead of just dialing the number like all normal people do, I'd sat there for what seemed like an eternity, staring stupidly at the slip of paper on my desk, wondering if I should even bother to call. It was like a conflict within myself, which was _so _not the Strider way. Strider's don't get nervous, especially when it comes to dialing cute boys.

Yet here I am, despite fighting myself for days about it, waiting for that certain boy to show up any time now. I sighed outwardly and smiled. There's a part of me that wants to know every single thing I possibly can about John Egbert. Not only his favorite primary color or what desert he enjoys, but what makes him smile. What holy thing can I do to hear his laugh again? What's his biggest dream or his worst fear? That's the John I've been longing to know.

Someone scuffs their shoe against the sidewalk in the distance. I snap out of my thoughts and look up; John's coming towards me, a shy grin plastered on his face. He's wearing a blue flannel over a white t shirt with a Ghostbusters logo on the front. It seems like he put some effort into fixing his unruly black hair, although it only made it more messy and, in my eyes, a-fucking-dorable.

I shove my shades up my nose and clear my throat. "You look nice."

What the fuck? You look nice? Come on, that was so lame. All of a sudden my converse were definitely more interesting than John's perplexed expression. Huh, it looks like one of my shoelaces is coming lose.

John's giggling forces me to look at him again. He's holding his arms around his middle and inspecting something on the pavement. I think I see a little tint of blush blooming on his pale cheeks. I note that his cheek bones are a little sharper than they probably should be.

"Thank you." He glances up at me, then back down sheepishly. "You do too."

My heart pounds frantically in my ears. "So, you ready to see a movie?"

"Uh, yeah. Which one?"

"Anything you wanna see, man. It's totes your choice today." I wrap my arm around his shoulder and steer him towards the movie theater. The closeness feels nice.

0-0-0-0-0

=John's POV

I walk with him on my side in silence until we arrive at the movie theater. He does most of the talking for sure this time, and I'm quite content with just listening to what Dave has to say.

"So, what do you do for fun?" He asks.

My smile falters as we step into the lobby. There's a lot of people here today. "Well, I really like to read."

Dave grins. "No kidding?"

"Yeah, uh," My chest aches. I want to respond but I feel like the crowd is taking my breath away. I've always despised crowds. I'm so accustomed to being separate from the flock that it's become increasingly difficult for me to be apart of one. It appears that everyone's eyes are on us. Despite my irrational thinking, I know deep down that its not true, but the sensation is growing ever stronger in my head. I consciously snuggle closer into Dave's side. He notices my change in attitude almost instantly.

"Hey," He drops his head closer to whisper into my ear. People are coasting around us like we're not even here. "Do you wanna wait on the couch over there?" He points to an empty chair across the room. "I can come get you when I've get our tickets and shit. It shouldn't take long."

I shake my head. It feels like its been detached from my neck. I know I'm already ruining our evening together.

However, Dave shows no signs of impatience. He actually looks pretty troubled. For a moment, we stand in the middle of the already expanding crowd. My legs won't even move if I try. This is horrible. Dave's going to see what a huge burden I am and leave, and just when I was getting used to having a friend..

Dave's hand slips into mine, our fingers intertwining with each other until he held me loosely. A rise of apprehension built inside my chest, and I gape at him in question. He looks back at me, his shades still covering his mysterious eyes. Something passes between us, an unspoken plea that requires no words to understand its meaning. I feel elated with a feeling of tenderness that he has never shown me before. His hand grasps mine more confidently now, and I hold his just as sternly. For some reason, I never want him to let go.

He steps forward and I follow him, our hands firmly linked together. I can feel the crowd shifting around me, but it doesn't even bother me much. His comfort blankets me like a shield. Before I can blink, we're waiting in a long line of strangers to get our tickets and our popcorn. I faintly remember that we had decided to see an action film, although I can't really recall which one we're going to watch. My brain feels a little muddled at the moment. It seems that he's stolen all of my thoughts, along with my heart.

To be honest, holding Dave's hand in my own is exhilarating. If I had a penny for every time that I've felt this way about someone else, it would be exactly one penny. And I'm not even entirely sure how I feel about Dave. Words fail to describe what the chaos in my chest and my head are desperately trying to define.

I slink away from my thoughts when a young lady comes back to the counter holding two buckets of popcorn and two fountain drinks. Dave hands me my food, who is still looking a little reserved, although he doesn't say anything about it, which is a-okay in my book right now. We somehow manage to hold everything in our arms without releasing each others hands and make it to our seats. I abruptly realize that I can't dig into this bucket of delicious popcorn without letting go of Dave. He comes to this conclusion as well, and we both avoid each others gaze when we relinquish our hold. Well, that's kind of a bummer.

I stare at the bucket in my hands. The popcorn's buttery aroma is driving my stomach wild. For the first time in days, I feel a ravaging hunger that I've never felt before. I select a piece with my fingers and pop it into my watery mouth. The combination of salt and fat leave a heavenly aftertaste. Suddenly, I'm scooping up generous handfuls and shoving them into my gob, barely even taking time to chew in between every bite. It tastes so wonderful, and I can't get enough of it. It's probably the best thing I've had to eat in months.

Then, the nausea comes swiftly. I freeze with the popcorn bucket on my lap. Please, no. Please. However, the feeling only heightens the more I try to ignore it, until my body is urging me to get to a bathroom. I bolt up out of my chair and cast Dave a quick "I'll be right back." before I practically run out of the cinema. I push open the bathroom door, my stomach sloshing uncomfortably, my mouth over salivating and my forehead as hot as an iron.

I crouch in the nearest stall just in time to puke up everything that I had just ate. Let me say that popcorn is a lot more pleasant going down than it is coming up. I don't really want to describe how god awful it truly was, so I'll spare you the details. My throat felt raw from all the salt that had been expelled from my protesting stomach. It feels like hours until I can at last stop to catch my breath. I lean forward to weakly flush the toilet, then rest my head against the cool plastic wall of the stall and close my eyes. This is going too far..

Suddenly, Dave is in front of me, looking very distressed. "John? Can you hear me, man? Come on, this isn't funny." He shakes my shoulder when my eye lids drift closed again. "John?"

I force them open, the florescent light of the restroom agony on my eyes. I wish I could go back to sleep, but Dave is here. Dave is crouching in front of me.. on the floor..oh no. Tears prick my eyes and I screw them shut.

"I-I'm sorry," I push my sweaty hand against the chilly tile of the floor and try to stand, but Dave ends up catching me anyway. I feel weak, exhausted actually. He's holding me up and begging to know what happened, and all I can do is shake my head wordlessly and mutter apologies.

"Did you get sick?" He asks again, hopelessly waiting for an answer that I'm not willing to give. Then, he gives up asking, and it makes me feel even worse. I wish I could just curl into a ball and hide away for eternity now. "I'll take you home, okay?"

And oh so slowly, Dave held his arm around my waist and guided me out through the lobby and into the crisp night air. Tears are streaming down my face. If I had the strength, I'd walk home on my own and beg Dave to forget about all this, but he's literally the only thing keeping me from falling on my knees. I'm thankful that I told him my address a while back.

The walk home is excruciatingly slow. We both say nothing, and I absolutely hate it. I hate myself most of all. What a stupid mistake. I should have grabbed something to eat before I left, maybe a granola bar or something. The thought of any food makes my stomach turn, so I decide not to think about it too much for now. I just want to get home as soon as I can. I never thought this would happen to me, especially in front of Dave. I feel terribly sick, like every ounce of energy was drained from my body all at once. God, he'll never want to talk to me again. The mere thought is depressing.

We arrive at my home after a long, terrible journey from the theater. I avoid looking Dave in the eye when we gradually climb the porch steps to the front door. I lean on the screen door and he finally steps back, his stoic expression long replaced by worry. A pang of guilt hurts my chest, but I keep my mouth shut. My face feels wet from all the tear streaks on my cheeks, and I angrily wipe them away with the sleeve of my flannel. I grasp the doorknob for comfort, knowing that I'll be alone soon.

Dave shifts his weight. "Are you going to be okay, man? I mean," He flicks his tongue against his teeth, something I've noticed him do often when he's unsure of what to say. "What happened, John?"

I laugh it off despite the crippling misery filling my chest. Oh, how I wish I could tell him. "I'll be okay. It's just a stomach bug, Dave. No worries." That's not good enough. "I-I've been feeling queasy for a few days now. It must have caught up with me tonight."

He nods his head in grim silence.

"Anyway, I'll uh, see you Monday. Thanks for walking me home."

Dave runs his hand through his hair in clear exasperation. "Yeah, sure, dude. I'll catch you later." He turns to me midway down the steps. "If you need to be alone, you take your time, okay? Text me if you wanna talk."

I watch his back all the way down the drive. My stomach is even more nauseated than it was earlier. I feel like it was only just minutes ago when he held my hand in his, and the mere thought makes me want to break down all over again. This was all a huge mistake. I should have never let someone as incredible as Dave Strider into my lonesome bubble. What have I done to ever deserve him? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I should know that I'm better off on my own.

I ignore the tears of frustration falling down my face. Frustration at myself, towards Dave and the stupid, confusing feelings he gives me. I shut the door and slide down onto the floor of my living room, holding my legs to my chest. I won't be texting him any time soon.

0-0-0-0-0

I'm really sorry for the two year hiatus. It feels good to be back.


	5. Chapter V

=Dave's POV

To say I was fucking worried would be the understatement of a lifetime. I was really, _really_ fucking worried. I sat at the kitchen table all night, beating myself up about the whole situation. Even if John hadn't wanted me there at all, I should have at least offered to stay and take care of him. But I'd felt so powerless in the moment that I had trouble unsticking the right words from mouth. It doesn't bother me that my plans for the evening were tarnished. Hell, it doesn't even bother me that the poor guy got sick in the first place. What bothers me is that I know he's lying to me.

I yank my shades from my face in frustration. My forehead meets my arms and I close my eyes, trying in vain to relax. John is ill and I feel like there's nothing I can do about it. When we met I knew he looked too skinny. At the time I hadn't let it bother me much. Maybe he was just naturally as small as he is short. Hell, even I have a wicked fast metabolism to bear with nowadays. Although, since that first day, it seems like he's gotten impossibly skinnier. Is he eating enough meals every day? Is he eating at all?

A familiar hand gently grasps my shoulder. "You okay, little man?"

I lift my head up; Bro is suddenly next to me, concern obvious in the tone of his voice. I sigh and stare at the scratched surface of the table. It would be no good to keep this from him. After all, we had vowed to be honest with each other ever since we left our parents. "No, not really." I dig my nail into one of the cracks, tracing its outline with the tip of my forefinger.

Bro pulls out the bar stool across from me and takes a seat. He removes his shades, like we always do whenever there's something serious to be discussed soon. He gazes at me expectantly with his peculiar orange eyes. "What's up?" He says. Its meant to be completely casual, but deep down I can feel his apprehension. The thought makes me feel guilty.

"There's this guy," I hesitate. He senses my doubt and let's down his cool persona, lightly touching my arm. I've never told him about my appeal for the same gender, though I'm assuming he's kind of figured it out by now. I haven't found the strength to tell him on my own yet. "I met him earlier this week and everything was going fine." The words rush out of me. It feels good to spill my guts to someone who will listen. "Tonight we went to the movies and it was awful, man. He got really sick."

Bro nods and I continue to pick at the counter. "Dave, I'm sure he's all right. Don't worry too much."

"But it wasn't the normal kind of sick you'd catch from a bug." I continue, now looking at him. "I think something's really wrong. Like, he's not eating right or-" I stop and run my hand through my untidy hair. Simply talking about this is hard. I can feel my heart racing wildly in my chest. I want to say that what John's going through reminds me of myself. I, too, used to delve in bad habits.

"Have you heard anything from him?" Bro questions.

I shake my head vigorously. "No, man. He hasn't sent me any messages or nothing."

Bro leans back and folds his arms. I can tell he's taking time to consider the circumstances, which I admittedly appreciate. He's the only person in the entire world I can openly talk to like this. But it hasn't always been this way. Before we moved away, we were distant and cold to each other; a product of how we were raised. To be honest, back then it felt like my older brother was absent from my life most of the time. I used to think he hated me, although I aspired to be like him a lot. He's always seemed so headstrong and quick witted, but he's shown me a completely different side of himself since we've become closer. A side that's more tender and kindhearted than I ever thought possible in someone like him.

"Dave," He pauses. I actually feel a tiny bit nervous about what he's gonna say next. "You obviously care about this guy, and that's totally cool, man." I notice the slight smile upturning his lips, but its not meant to be cruel. "I think you should go see him tomorrow morning to make sure he's okay and shit."

The weight in my chest lifts a little. "A-Are you sure? I mean," I release a long breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding. "I don't even know if he wants to see me anymore, Bro."

"Well, little man, the only way your ever gonna know is if you find out yourself." His smirk isn't hidden now. I think he's actually sort of happy for me. It leaves me at a temporary loss for words. I glare at the table and absently rub the long sleeve covering my abused wrist.

He notices instantly. Bro clutches my shoulder a second time and squeezes it reassuringly. I stare at him uncomprehendingly, searching his face for the answers that I need. But he just stares back, and behind all that determination, I see sorrow. "Just be there for him, okay? Like I was for you." With that, Bro scoots back out of his chair in silence and leaves the kitchen. I sit there for a long time, my scars itching uneasily.

0-0-0-0-0

It's Sunday morning and it feels like its a sin to be out of bed this early. I'm so drowsy from my severe lack of sleep from the previous night that I have to choke back yawns every two minutes. Alas, I force one foot in front of the other and hike down the sidewalk to John's house. I'd caught the earliest bus possible out of my neighborhood to be here and by god am I going to make sure he's all right before I leave again. I cast my eyes upwards towards the parting clouds left behind from a terrible storm last night. I breathe in the fresh Spring air as sunlight breaks through and lights up the world. My chest swells with hope. I can do this.

I'm standing in front of his house before I know it. It's a small two story with chipped blue paint and several pane glass windows. I wonder if its too soon to knock. He might not even be awake yet. I grit my teeth and climb the porch steps as I had done with John in my arms yesterday, each step creaking in my wake. There's a lamp on near the window, so someone's gotta be awake right? I feel sickly nervous and my chest is tight. I push open the screen door and raise my fist to knock. Well, here goes nothing. The knocks seem louder than usual in the quiet morning air. I hear timid footsteps on the inside; someone pushes a frilly curtain out of the way to see me. I wait with baited breath.

The front door swings open and a man is on the other side. He's still in his pink striped pajamas, but its impossible for me to laugh at what he's wearing with so many words jammed in my throat. He examines me thoughtfully, scratching his temple and brushing back his black hair. I assume this must be John's father, and the thought makes me feel even worse. I'd never even given time to think of how his parents might react to me.

"Hello," He says, smiling politely. "What can I do for you?"

I blink and swallow whatever stupid nervousness is trying to hold me back. I need to know if John's okay. "Hi, I'm Dave. Just wonderin' if John's up."

The man raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you a friend of his?" He says it like its a dream, which makes me wonder how long its been since John has had a single friend visit his home.

"Yes, sir. I-"

"Dave?" John's timid voice rises from behind his dad. He steps back and let's his son stand in the door frame. It takes all my willpower to not hug him on the spot. He seems all right besides his eyes, which are rimmed with dark circles. His dark hair accentuates his pallor and makes his face look even paler. I try not to gawk at his cute baby blue pajamas, which has a tiny white bunny stitched onto the shirt pocket. John inspects me carefully, as if he's expecting me to yell at him or something. "What are you doing here?" He takes consideration of his father looming protectively behind him. "I mean, uh, I just didn't expect you to come over."

I shrug and force myself to grin. "Well, I was hoping you'd wanna hang out today, man." I mock him by taking a step backwards. "I can leave if you want me to.."

"No, no!" A blush is evident on his cheeks now, but he steps aside. He seems embarrassed and absentmindedly tugs at the bottom of his shirt. "Come in."

I notice him glance up at his dad, and he's smiling proudly back at his son. I feel at ease knowing I'm no longer an intruder in their home. John refuses to meet my eyes and twiddles his thumbs uncertainly. His dad walks away with a little skip in his step to the living room. Its obvious that he's excited that John has company.

We stand awkwardly in the hall until John mumbles. "Let's go to my room." He stalks away and I follow him with my hands in my pockets. He turns to the room his dad had went into and we begin our ascent up a short flight of stairs. I note a few more rooms before we reach his at the end of another hallway. He opens the door for me and I step in. The walls are covered in a variety of movie posters and picture frames. There's a closed chest in the corner decorated with an array of yellow stars and a desk across from that with a computer resting on its surface. The bed is a mess, and it looks like he'd just thrown the covers aside and jumped out of it only seconds ago. I stand in the middle of the room and watch him close the door.

I decide to make small talk instead of rushing into what had happened last night. "Cool posters, dude."

John smiles despite his nervousness. "Thanks, uh, sorry about the mess." He uses his foot to shuffle some video game cases under his nightstand.

"No worries."

John sits on the edge of the bed. I stay standing, silently observing him.

"Why are you here, Dave?" He sighs, but resolves himself to staring at his toes.

I feel genuinely baffled. "I wanted to check on you, man. How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right." He sniffs like he's about to cry.

I can't take it anymore. I walk over and sit next to him, not sure whether or not I should touch him. "No you're not." I tilt my head, trying to get a better look at his face, but he turns away from me. "John, you scared me to death last night." He's shaking his head now. I press on. "Please, tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry." John clutches his blankets in a vice grip. A sob wracks his body and he's shaking uncontrollably. He's crying his eyes out now. I sling my arm around his shoulder, hoping it brings him some comfort. I distantly wish that I could make him smile somehow; I hate seeing him like this. "Sometimes," His voice is a whisper. "Sometimes I don't eat."

I wince, knowing my worst fears have been confirmed. "Why?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It's stupid."

I gently caress his left cheek with my hand. He willingly allows me to turn his face towards mine. My shaded eyes lock with his own gorgeous blue ones. Tear streaks mar his face, but he doesn't try to wipe them away. We study each other; his lips look so soft. "Tell me." I speak ever so softly, using my other hand to push a stray hair behind his ear.

"I feel ugly." He bashfully tries to hide his face again. But I won't let go. I hold him tenderly, suddenly desperate to prove him wrong.

"John," I start, a smile playing on my lips from the sheer audacity of what I'm about to say. "You are the most handsomest guy I've ever seen." He looks at me in disbelief. I continue on with my heart pounding wildly. "First of all, you have these stupid freckles across your nose that look super adorable. I'm not kidding, dude. And don't even get me started on your laugh. It's kinda like a chorus of fucking angels in my head. But your smile," I beam at him. "Well, I don't think I'm ever gonna get tired of seeing it."

I feel my face heating up now. "There's nothing wrong with you, man. You're perfect to me." A weight relieves my chest as I finally get the words out. The letters hang in the still air between us. John gazes at me, tears silently cascading down his face and an obscure look playing about his face. I glance away in trepidation. I can hear him sniffling.

Then, he's instantly giggling and hiding his enormous grin behind his hand. "That's probably the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me."

All of a sudden we're happy again. The tension dissipates and leaves behind an incandescent feeling in its absence. Its something blooming in my heart that I haven't felt towards someone else in a really, really long time.

I clear my throat, but I cannot seem to stop smiling at him. "So, you promise to eat more?"

John holds out his pinky to me. The mere gesture ignites a fire inside me. What is this boy doing to my heart? I take his pinky in mine and they cross each other. "I promise."


End file.
